


The Dance

by StrangeMischief



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-10-26 11:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20741147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeMischief/pseuds/StrangeMischief
Summary: “Two old, grey, damaged men twirling about. People will talk.”Stephen hummed thoughtfully, his head tilting slightly. “Let them.”





	The Dance

**Author's Note:**

> As always, enjoy :3

_ The Dance _

Tony grimaced and shifted to support more of his weight against the creaking Sanctum wall behind him, ignoring the cringe-worthy grind that sounded from his knee as he did so. The tolls of taking on the roles of Iron Man and Avenger had been becoming increasingly obvious as the years passed. Some grey hair here. A couple dozen scars there. Increasingly thickening glasses for his strained eyes. Handfuls of pills for a war-torn heart, a ravaged shoulder, and blinding migraines.

And now, Thanos left his mark too.

Perhaps, if he had been younger and superhuman, like Peter, Tony could have bounced back from a shattered knee like it was but a slight inconvenience in his hectic and busy life. But Tony was human. He was battered. Tired. And while money could do many things, convincinga knee to work properly after being fragmented to splinters wasn’t one of them. And so, his movements were a bit slower, and his daily pain a tad more cumbersome. It was inconvenient and pushed his stress levels to newfound heights, but could have been worse.

It could have been _so_ much worse.

Tony shuddered as images of the fallen, those who escaped the snap but were lost in the final battle, filtered through his mind against his will. The haunting, mournful cries of loved ones breaking through unmoving silence. Snowy white suits streaked black with soot. The echoing crunch of soaring bodies slamming into the ground. Scarlet blood streaming over the dewy morning grass. Desperate pleas echoing off rocky landscapes as tears, hot and salty, dripped-

“Tony?”

Sweet, warm air danced over Tony’s face, ripping him violently from the bleak spot his thoughts had crept into. He drew in a breath, relishing the pleasantly relaxing mixture of tea leaves, apples, and mint. Though he needn’t have looked to know who it was, Tony’s dark eyes rose to meet the bright sea-green before him. In the year since Thanos, Tony had spent considerable time with the owner of those eyes and, admittedly, a large portion of that time was dedicated to subtly drinking in their unique color.

And, yet, he was still swept away each time he saw them.

“Stephen,” Tony greeted softly. Eyes never straying from the sorcerer’s, he pushed off the wall with a wince. “Good thing you made it. If you didn’t show, I’d have to resort to asking FRIDAY to pull up a DIY video on YouTube. I was starting to worry.”

“Mmm, yes, I could tell,” Stephen mumbled, more so to himself than Tony. His voice seemed oddly distant. As if there was more to what he wanted to say but chose not to. Stephen turned and took several steps back towards the center of the room. “Come this way. I’ll cast the cushioning spell on your knee, and we’ll go through the steps of a waltz quickly to see if it holds.”

“Eager to get rid of me?” Ton grunted darkly as he stiffly stumbled forward. It would have taken anyone else less than three strides to be nose to nose with Stephen. Tony needed eight awkward shuffling steps forward, his face a twitchy mess of poorly concealed discomfort the entire way. He bit the inside of his cheek and sent a silent prayer to the powers that be that he didn’t stumble in front of Stephen. No doubt he’d have a good laugh with Wong over that for days to come.

“You don’t seem eager to be here,” Stephen countered, watching Tony move with hawkish eyes. “Truthfully, I don’t see why you’d bother. There’s really no need for you to go to the banquet anyway. No one-”

“No one expects me to?” Tony interrupted with a laugh. “All the more reason to go. It’s for ‘war heroes,’ Stephen. Not to toot my own horn, but I think I’ve earned a seat at the table.”

Stephen cracked an exasperated smile. “Well, there’s no need to dance. You could take your well-earned seat and just relax. I’m sure the people will come to you.”

“Stop mother-henning me, Strange,” Tony snapped. “I won’t be trapped in a chair for hours with no excuse to escape the storm of grieving loved ones and hero-worshipers that will come my way. Now either help me, or fuck off and send me Wong.”

Stephen regarded the man before him silently, face as impassive as ever, and Tony briefly believed he might have pushed the man too far. “I’ll need your hand,” he finally replied smoothly, thrusting his hand into the space between the two.

“I’m sorry, what?” Tony sputtered, his ears pinkening at the tips.

“One typically holds the hand of another when partaking in waltzes,” Stephen bit back dryly, the fingers on his extended hand curling in irritation.

“But my knee,” Tony protested, gesturing vaguely at his leg. “You haven’t cast the spell yet.”

Stephen quirked a brow and wrapped his long fingers around Tony’s waist, yanking him close enough Tony could _feel _the heat rolling off Stephen’s body. It was a sinfully delicious warmth that left him wanting nothing more than to drown in it. “I already did,” Stephen smirked, and Tony chose to ignore the way his heart sputtered at the sight.

“What the hell, Strange,” Tony snapped. “I could have fallen and broken my ass!”

Stephen scoffed and gently guided Tony’s feet to the right, before taking a step back, followed by a forward sweep that reset the short, repetitive pattern – the waltz, Tony realized with delight. “I wouldn’t let you fall, Tony,” Stephen reassured, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. “Now, focus on your steps for a moment, if you will. I can readjust the spell if-”

“What’s there to readjust?” Tony interrupted with a laugh, a sparkle of joy twinkling in his eyes. “I’m dancing. I didn’t think I’d ever do it again, not going to lie, Doc.”

“Pepper will be impressed,” Stephen smiled weakly, voice masked in something Tony couldn’t put his finger on.

“Oh, is she going to the banquet too? I didn’t know,” Tony replied, brows raised. His tone held the pleasant surprise of one who had discovered an old friend was coming into town after years apart. It was warm and cheerful, but not laced with anything beyond old familiarity. “I can’t keep up with her social calendar now that we don’t sync them anymore.”

“I heard from Peter. I assumed you and Pepper were going together,” Stephen frowned, carefully maneuvering Tony, so they swirled in tighter, smoother patterns.

“Ship’s sailed, Strange,” Tony sighed. “We tried, god, we tried for so long, and we love each other. But...somewhere along the way it became a different kind of love.”

Stephen nodded thoughtfully. “I can sympathize,” he mumbled, a distant look in his light eyes. “But,” he added, slowly, hand on Tony’s waist tightening, “there’s no reason to go alone. That is...I mean...if you were so inclined” he stammered, flushing under Tony’s intense gaze. “We could go. Together. You and I.”

“You and I?” Tony repeated breathlessly. Hopefully, if he had heard it, Stephen would blame it on the dancing lesson rather than – correctly – assuming it had anything to do the with heart-pounding hope racing through his veins. “What a sight we’d be,” Tony joked weakly, still struggling to gather his bearings. “Two old, grey, damaged men twirling about. People will talk.”

Stephen hummed thoughtfully, his head tilting slightly. “Let them.”


End file.
